When the Smoke Clears
by Tara Laurel
Summary: In small towns, things don't stay gone forever. People return after being gone for years...secrets never stay secret..yes, it seems everything in small towns resurfaces sooner or later.. "Smokes them from their holes...I guess they'll find another hole"
1. Whispers in the Dark

**A/N: Okay, here it goes. I LOVE Salem's Lot, the book and the movies. THIS fanfic is based off of the 2004 miniseries starring Rob Lowe. Not everything in the movie followed the book perfectly, especially the ending. So if you didn't like the new ending, don't read this, because it follows it. There may be some errors in facts, etc, but I just couldn't help myself. I wrote a version when it first came out and I was 12. This is me going back and editing and bettering it. Enjoy...**

**R and R please and thank you. **

**Chapter One: Whispers in the Dark**

In small towns, things don't stay gone forever. People return after being gone for years because for some reason they are drawn back, like they are owned by the town. Secrets never stay secret, well, not for long. An old couple will bring up mistakes the other made from decades ago that should be dead, buried, and forgotten about. Yes, it seems as though everything in small towns resurfaces sooner or later.

It was bitter cold as Mark stared up at the darkening sky above him. He shook and as his breath made its way in front of him for him to see, Mark was brought back to a different frozen night. A night in which one brother was murdered, the other left not much better off, and Mark left alive and safe at home. He thought about that day nearly every evening before going to bed, just as he imagined numerous other visuals before he drifted off, if he even managed to do so. He had been right there with them. It was just innocent fun. In big cities, kids got their rushes from stealing or gang fights or something and fun was just an arcade away. In small towns like Jerusalem's Lot, having fun was far more difficult to do. So the boys had resorted to sneaking through Charlie Rhode's bus glove compartment. It was supposed to have been harmless.

"Mark"

A new memory flashed through Mark's mind as he thought about the Glick boys.

"Open the window, Mark."

The image of Danny Glick's pale and icy face pressed up against his bedroom window, the nails on his hands scrapping against the glass, brought Mark back to reality.

_Vampires. Crap. _It was already dark. _Had it really been that long? _

The picture of Ben's lifeless body on the hospital bed flared through his mind, Ben's empty, starring eyes burning into his brain like hot coals.

It had been too much. Every single individual person is different. Some people cry when their goldfish dies or they move cities. Other people can stand through their own parents' funeral without letting a single tear escape their grasp. Mark could not count the number of people he had lost in the last few years. With each death, with each sharp and purposeful stake through a friend's heart, he had merely grown colder and further and further detached. Ben had noticed it and tried to discuss the issue with Mark, but soon stopped. What was there to say?

_Ben._

Thinking about his best friend and Surgut father nearly drove Mark to heavy tears, again. After he had run, Mark had found an empty room. He ducked inside and a nurse found him, God knows how long later, in the fetal position and sobbing like a small child. She had attempted to console him and get him to go with her. He just ran, ran until he was met with the outside and the night sky.

Mark hurried to the closest street. He didn't really trust anyone or anything, but trusted a nighttime city driver over possibly meeting one of his old neighbors while walking.

It had been almost two and a half years since it had all began in 'Salem's Lot. Since Straker and Barlow bought the Marsten House. Since Ben returned to town. Since Danny Glick had come to his bedroom window. Since his mother…

The headlights of an oncoming car pulled Mark out of this thoughts. The vehicle slowed to a stop as Mark stuck out his thumb, a skill he had picked up by Charlie Rhodes kicking him off the school bus so many times. A faint whisper echoed in the distance. Mark froze for a brief moment and whipped his head behind him. _Just the wind. _The driver nodded and Mark opened the passenger door and slid inside.

"Where you headed, kid?" The man said in a scratchy voice.

"Anywhere but here." Mark replied, only staring forward, never looking at the stranger.

"Well, I'm heading home from work to the wife and kids, it's about 30 miles north of here. I commute. Any place particular you'd like to be dropped off at?"

"A motel. A motel is fine."

"You got it. So, you got a name, son?"

"Mark."

"Well, Mark, I'm Jake. You're lucky a small town man like myself came along, yes siree. The big city is an unsafe place to be at night, especially for a young man like yourself. Not many people here would have bothered to even notice you and the rest of them are most likely dangerous folk."

_Boy, _Mark thought to himself, _he doesn't have a clue. _

They sat in silence for some time as Mark did his best to keep awake. He hadn't allowed himself an ounce of sleep for several days, not since they had closed in on Father Callahan's whereabouts. They were either researching or traveling all through the night hours, or Mark was up, replaying the last time he saw the real Father Callahan, the last time he saw his mother.

"Hey. Hey, kid. Kid."

The man shook Mark out of his dozing trance and Mark was thankful but failed to show it.

"You're bleeding, son. Shoot, I didn't even notice it before."

"Oh?"

Mark glanced down at his arms where he suddenly felt the burning sensation his brain had been ignoring by force of habit. When every day you are getting beat up, bloody, and bruised, you learn to shut yourself off from pain. You can't be wincing about your broken rib when a vampire is about to hurl you across a room.

He stared at the wounds for a moment, as if not really seeing them. Deep, red lines decorated his forearms. The liquid began draining onto the seat.

"Guess I didn't either. Sorry 'bout the seat." He wasn't truly remorseful. _This guy could have a lot more to worry about than a bloody car seat and doesn't even know it._

"It's fine. She's old and battered anyhow. How'd you get those?"

Images flashed in Mark's memory again. This time, Ben was not the one in the hospital bed. It was Father Callahan, but yet, it wasn't. it was the thing that Barlow had turned him into. The "thing" had even attempted to reason with the boy. He argued that he was the one that saved Mark's life.

"No," Mark replied coldly and confident, "Father Callahan did and you're not him."

With that, Mark had lifted the pillow out from underneath Callahan's head and placed it firmly over his face. Callahan was weak and could not save his own life, but he could fight. He had scratched and clawed at Mark like a wild beast until finally, he was still.

An image in the road jolted Mark back from his daydream and instantly took Jake's mind off of Mark. Jake slammed on hard on the brakes, stopping only a few feet away from the hunched over shadow. Jake pounded his fist on the horn. The booming noise didn't even cause the silhouette to the horn one last time, Jake flashed his brights. The image of a man came into focus just as Mark caught a glimpse of a white and unusual glint in his eyes. Mark's breath caught in his throat.

It was Dud Rodgers.


	2. Suffer the Innocent

**Chapter 2: Suffer the Innocent**

_An image in the road jolted Mark back from his daydream and instantly took Jake's mind off of Mark. Jake slammed on hard on the brakes, stopping only a few feet away from the hunched over shadow. Jake pounded his fist on the horn. The booming noise didn't even cause the silhouette to flinch. Punching the horn one last time, Jake flashed his brights. The image of a man came into focus just as Mark caught a glimpse of a white and unusual glint in his eyes. Mark's breath caught in his throat. _

_It was Dud Rodgers._

Dud Rodgers, the cripple who Mark had watched be berated by kids at school and around town. Dud Rodgers, who had drove Larry Crocket to trying to kill himself in his garage. Dud Rodgers, who no longer walked with a limp. Dud Rodgers, who was supposed to be dead.

"What the hell?" Jake muttered slowly. "He's a lunatic."

Jake stepped down and out of his truck, leaving it running so that the stranger in the street was still in full view from the lights. Jake hesitantly went towards the man, despite Mark's desperate protests. Mark went to unlatch his seatbelt, but found the buckle jammed in his hands. He tried to calculate if it really was locked or if his mind and fear were playing tricks on him just as they often liked to do. He fought with it until it finally released with a snap, cutting Mark's cheek as it recoiled. Mark looked up just in time to witness Jake falling lifelessly to Dud's feet. Mark's heart raced. For a moment, he froze. It wasn't like this was his first vampire he met. Numerous had chased and found him and Ben after they had set fire to the town and fled. It had become a routine task to them. That was just it, for them. Mark hadn't faced a vampire without Ben since Barlow killed his mother.

Mark let the fear wash over and paralyze him only for a moment, just as he had taught himself to do and had done when Straker had him tied to a chair. Coming to his senses, Mark slid over into the driver's seat and punched down on the gas with his foot, just as Dud was making his way towards the hood. The truck collided with him with a satisfying crash. Mark knew it would not kill the creature, but it would slow him down enough. Mark refused to let himself even glance in the mirror, fearing not to see the vampire, but to see the dead body of the man whose only crime was trying to help him. He followed the twists and turns of the dark road until he no longer heard the screams following him. He pulled into a rest stop where another driver studied a large map with a flashlight inside his vehicle. Mark didn't have much time but after getting Jake killed or worse he did not want to hurt this man. Mark ditched the truck behind the building and then went inside to wait. Less than ten minutes passed when the lost driver stepped inside and proceeded to the bathroom, offering Mark a tired nod. Mark returned the greeting and silently apologized to the new stranger. As soon as the bathroom door slammed shut, Mark leapt to his feet and raced out to where the man's SUV sat. Mark climbed in and used the knowledge Ben had taught him to hot-wire the car. It wasn't the most right or honest thing, but it was honesty or survival, and Ben had taught Mark that long ago, not that he needed a lesson.

When they first left 'Salem's Lot, Mark was barely thirteen, although, he did look significantly older. That is what happens when you're forced to grow up too soon, when you see too much, too soon. Eventually, your looks start to match.

Ben had been able to pull in a few favors and managed to get them both false identifications. Mark was not a fan of his new name of "Bernard", but Ben had just laughed, a rarity for either of them, and told him it was "Bernard Baker" or "Elizabeth Baker". Mark dealt with it, just like he did everything else. His hometown was now Charlotte, North Carolina, a city he had never seen, and he was, legally¸ two years older. Ben became "Keith Baker", Mark's "father". Mark's "mother's" name was Margaret Baker who had passed away from cancer when Mark was a baby. "Keith" was a salesman, explaining why they traveled so much. This was also an advantage because Mark could legally drive, even though not being able to would not have stopped him from running over Dud.

Mark still told people his name was Mark, explaining it was his middle name and he liked it better. Ben argued at first, but then gave up, as usual. Mark was just as stubborn as Ben, if not a little more, but Ben frequently gave in first because he would just be too tired. He did not tell Mark, but most nights Ben sat up, never sleeping, keeping watch. He was not going to let anything else happen to Mark, ever.

The SUV was a lot more comfortable ride than the truck, but Mark would have been satisfied with anything with four wheels and a working engine. He just needed to get away. Unfortunately, life wasn't going to let him.


	3. Solve Et Coagula

**A/N: Wow, so no one is reading this...oh well. I'll keep going if people start I guess. Maybe a review will help me be motivated to ;) I have it plotted out and it does get pretty intense and better...**

**Chapter 3: Solve Et Coagula **

_Solve Et Coagula  
_

_"Fire, fire  
I dissolve and solidify,  
Destroy to recreate,  
Disassemble to assemble something pure,  
Our rubic sol-ve-et-co-ag-u-la  
Kill to be born again, cycled a thousand times_

Fire, planetary alchemy,  
Fire, the time is here now  
Fire, four corners to rise  
Fire rise!  
Fire, there's always loss within,  
Fire, the cleansing it's time  
Fire, shooting arrows to the sky  
Fire

I construct a new institution  
Not out of bricks, iron, cement, concrete  
Or steel  
Our rubic sol-ve-et-co-ag-u-la  
Distill to purify,  
We've done it a thousand times

Fire, planetary alchemy,  
Fire, the time is here now  
Fire, four corners to rise  
Fire rise!  
Fire, there's always loss within,  
Fire, the cleansing it's time  
Fire, shooting arrows to the sky  
Fire

Burn, bleed all the lives of life, ascend to  
The sky  
Burn, all the martyrs

Fire, planetary alchemy,  
Fire, the time is here now  
Fire, four corners to rise  
Fire rise!  
Fire, there's always loss within,  
Fire, the cleansing it's time  
Fire, shooting arrows to the sky  
Fire "

"Mark" A voiced cooed from behind him as he walked down the empty street.

Mark jumped, surprised to find anyone in this desolate town. This town, that somehow felt so very familiar but was unrecognizable. Buildings were left in shambles, if not pieces. There were open spaces where some of the houses and places had been completely destroyed. The entire place had a black and dark tone to it, both physically and somehow on a deeper, inner level. It reminded him of some old abandoned western town he used to read about in school.

He spun around and was met with the length of the empty road.

He had walked alone along the abandon roads for some time now, not exactly knowing where he was or where he was going. As his mind remained confused, his legs seemed to know exactly where to go, each turn to make, each shortcut to find, as if by an old habit. He peered up at the night sky as he continued walking and silently wondered if this place ever saw daylight. It was a strange thought to have and Mark knew it. Still, someone, deep inside, he knew that this town was meant for eternal darkness. Even the stars and the moon seemed to glow dimmer here.

His feet finally came to an abrupt stop, catching Mark off guard and nearly causing him to fall over. His stared up at the building in front of him in horror and bewilderment. The house that his body had brought him to was engulfed in wild and roaring hot flames. He shielded his face from the intense heat just as a small explosion erupted from one of the rooms. A small voice came to Mark's ears and for a moment he believed it to be only the wind. It came again a second time, only louder. The shrill cries of a woman in agony jolted Mark to his senses. Without thinking, he bolted up the front steps and through the smoldering door. As he reached the inside, his heart skipped more than a few beats in fear and shock. The interior of the building was untouched by the untamable flames. The screaming woman was now silent as Mark searched the familiar house in desperation for her. He sighed and headed for the door to leave when he heard his name behind him once again.

He slowly turned around to meet the stranger who knew his name in this foreign yet familiar town and half expected to see no one.

A woman stood before him. She, like the town, was familiar but unidentifiable. Her face was pale, save for the streaks of black dust along her forehead and cheeks. Her lips cracked and peeled as she spoke. Mark could tell that at one time, this woman had been beautiful, but now, she was hideous and disfigured and he could hardly stand to look at her. The wind blew the few strands of wavy hair that was left on her head. Her scalp was badly burned and blistering, along with the rest of her body. Puss oozed from the festering sores that decorated her body like mosquito bites after a long day in the woods. Her entire left arm was skinless, blood dripping from it onto the pavement. She resembled one of Mark's old figurines, one of the monsters or zombies. Through all the pain in the woman's eyes and through all the hideous and vile disfiguration of her body, she somehow managed to form a small, thin smile.

Mark tried to back away from the mysterious woman, but she drew closer to him. It was when she walked that Mark realized something that made his stomach heave into his throat. This woman was walking backwards, all the while, her head still facing him. She backed him into a wall that seemed to come out of nowhere. She paused for a second, giving Mark a compassionate glance. In an instant, she reached up and twisted her own head around and turned to face him, properly. She gingerly reached up one of her bleeding hands and allowed her fingers to graze Mark's face. Mark gave a sudden flinch and the woman's kind eyes flashed into rage.

"You little shit." It spit into Mark's face with a voice like leather. "You did this. You brought him into my home. You let him grab me and you just ran. You ran like the coward and worthless, pathetic thing you are."

"You ran Mark." A new voice came from behind the burning woman. This figure was ghostly pale, allowing her blonde hair to illuminate against it. "Why did you run? He had me downstairs with him. You were right there. You ran. Why?"

"You were right there." His dead mother repeated. "You ran. Why?"

The two woman cornered him before Mark could figure out what was happening. In an instant, the vampire who had once been his friend lunged at him, hissing and opening her mouth wide to reveal glimmering fangs. He was frozen in fear and unable to struggle. The jagged teeth sank into Mark's neck with ease as a warm red liquid trickled from the new openings. Mark began feeling as if he was being lifted, like he was floating, not fully alive, not fully anywhere. The sensation heightened as the woman clutched the back of his head and Mark slowly crumpled to the ground.


	4. Motels and Heroes

**Chapter 4: Motels and Heroes**

The air of the cheap motel room was stifling and stiff as Mark sat up in bed with a sudden start and gasped for breath. He nearly choked on the dryness that swiftly entered his lungs and went to stand with an all too familiar uneasiness that followed his reoccurring nightmares. He shuffled his feet against the decrepit carpet, although he found it to feel more like gravel against his bare skin. His eyes were barely slits when reached the bathroom sink and began running the cool, yet spurting, water over his hands. He let the relaxing feeling wash over him before bending forward and throwing the liquid against his weary face. After a few good splashes, Mark shook the water droplets from his fingers and hair, drew the ripped and stained hanging towel over his face, and went on to relieve his parched throat and lungs with a shot glass sized plastic cup.

Mark crumpled to diminutive excuse for a cup and clasped his hands firmly on the sink. It seemed as though he pushed his entire body weight against that square piece of metal. As he steadied himself his gaze met his own in the clouded and dirt speckled reflection across from him. The shrill voices of accusation shot through his skull and the horrifying faces formed beside his. Mark quickly clamped his eyelids shut and blocked out the all too real images.

Mark went over and grabbed his backpack and flung it on top of his bed. He knew there was no use in attempting to go back to sleep as his body had grown accustomed to abruptly waking in the middle of the night and needing to remain that way or simply not sleeping at all.

He carefully unzipped the frail and old bag and slid out his prized possession. The stiff surface felt natural in Mark's hands as he gripped the end tightly. There were slight grooves in the woodwork where his hand grasped, allowing his skin to refrain from slipping. Dropping your weapon when your life depends on it just was not an option. Ben, of course, had been the one to come up with the idea; he was always the one with the ideas.

_Ben._

Mark had been trying to think about him. When hunting vampires was your trade, there was no time for grieving or crying, only survival. But that was just it; it wasn't Mark's job, his trade. It was _theirs. _They had gone hunting, hunting for Father Callahan, and they had taken him down. Hunting season was over. _Now what? _Is this really what Mark desired to do for the rest of his possibly cut short life? _No! _He was just a kid. As much as he enjoyed saving people from one of those bloodsucking monsters, and as much as he loathed admitting it to himself, he wanted to go to school, to college, to get a job, a family, to be normal. He never revealed the fact to Ben are rarely even to himself, but deep down it was there. Mark was barely a teenager, a boy required to face things most grown men never encountered.

He released a heavy and labored sigh as he continued to stare at the sharpened stake in his grasp. _It doesn't matter. _He nodded his head as if agreeing with himself. None of that mattered anymore; not his dreams, not anything. Ben dying didn't change anything. Sure, they had searched for Father Callahan for what seemed like a lifetime and that was their main mission, but during the course, they had also saved many lives, and Mark couldn't just walk away from that. Ben wouldn't have, so neither would he.


End file.
